Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Engrossed on the spring soggy marsh, canvass reflecting
Clwydian hills, steel works, the coastline arc disappearing
to West Kirby. Lovers promenading, fishermen sorting
their catch, the distant sound of squawking gulls beyond
brush strokes. Sulphur dioxide oozing from sodden
ground, its odour ripe to the nostrils. Invertebrates dart
across golden samphire, wainscot and starwort flutter,
make concentric circles over aster tops. Our feet never
sure-footed, the wetland in constant motion.

An hour or two away from communicating the impression,
observing and analysing ocular stimuli under stringent tutelage.
Here, we find natural expression purifies ‘visual art connection’,
observational skills become honed, driving for ‘cultural and
aesthetic’ awareness; the art masters dictionary satisfied at last.
Cool soft wind swaying reeds hypnotise our stare. The dull thud
sound of wild fowlers hunting disturbed quarry, ignites revulsion.
Further down the estuary, sandstone merges with mudflats.
Ornithologists crouch in bisque grasses, transfixed by lapwing
and harrier. The occasional stolen kiss and flesh parade, in
flagrante sex between easel sessions, thoughts of faraway
Giverny and Argenteuil.

We conceptualise and translate the dynamic, learn
critical appraisal, develop enquiring attitude to fashion
working vocabulary. But out here in the vastness of the
marsh, the ghost of Nelson and Emma Hamilton bleached
into rushes, shapes silhouetted against billowing slategray
skies; the classroom seems academic, far from Monet.

Our portraiture has become crass, formulaic methodology;
segmented behavioural domains more like utilitarian
manifesto than sublime manifestation. On the salt marshland,
our fragmentation, colours, lines and tonal variations find
proper purpose. We build acrylic abstraction layer in bold thrusting
motions, the flats and filberts construct depth, the liners and
rounds highlighting and pinpointing herons and cormorants,
the single handed sailor navigating the Dee channel.

On Parkgate marsh the canvass breathes, absorbing crystalline
hues, becomes Burroughs living typewriter, free from classroom
sterility; the possibilities endless. We paint but it could be sculpture,
an impression cast in stained glass, ceramic edifice. Broad theory
house themes become crafted in personal reflection, idea
development un-submissive to interpretation, like mercury
boiling and nitrate condensing into blazing shards of light and
shade, void of turbulent form. The compulsive drive distilling art like
end orgasm, gushing spikes and droplets of cornflower blue and
aquamarine. Blanched almond icons forged into dark magenta base.
We step back; make appreciation, our final impression
beyond syllabus technique.